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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26356345">My Lot Don't Send Rude Notes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Santillatron/pseuds/Santillatron'>Santillatron</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Whump (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Whump (Good Omens), Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Torture</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:27:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,262</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26356345</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Santillatron/pseuds/Santillatron</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley took a risk rescuing the daft angel from the Bastille. A big risk. And it's caught up with him. Hell, it’s caught up with them both.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>140</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>My Lot Don't Send Rude Notes</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>My Lot Don't Send Rude Notes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This has been hanging around in my WIPs for a while and it's time for it to roam free. It's based on <a href="https://whiteleyfoster.tumblr.com/post/612585496466587648/if-my-people-hear-i-rescued-an-angel-ill-be-the">that amazing Whitely Foster art</a> of course. </p><p>It's not overly graphic, hence I haven't tagged it as such, but if you think I should have other tags etc, please let me know.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“If my people hear I rescued an angel, I’ll be the one in trouble. And my lot do not send rude notes!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That had been two days ago. Two days filled with crêpes, wine, and hiding from the French revolutionaries and aristocrats alike. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A lot can happen in two days. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Devil can catch up with you for one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley had woken up in Hell with a blinding headache and only a bleary memory of unnecessary uses of force. His jacket and shirt had been torn in the capture, leaving his shoulder bare, his collarbone exposed where it lay jutting out of his meagre flesh. His hair had given up on the preposterous fashionable curls and, instead, was dangling in wet tendrils down his face, damp with sweat and yet still glowing like a dying star in the light of the fire that burned in a large bowl on a column in front of him, the flames dancing at his face height. He could barely move, bound as he was to the chair he’d been rudely thrust down onto. His sunglasses were long gone, leaving his persimmon eyes struggling with the dancing light of the flames, pupils narrowed down to slits as he tried to keep an eye on the length of iron in front of him. He could feel bruises and cuts on his body, at least one black eye and potentially a concussion. He spared a little energy healing the worst of it, trying to save some for what was inevitably to come. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hastur chuckled from the darkness behind the fire. He pushed the branding iron deep into the belly of the flames, watching as the black metal began to glow cherry-red. He let it get white hot before he pulled it out and inspected it. Crowley’s eyes darted around, nervously. There had to be a way out of here. There had to be something he could use. There had to be a way to stop this. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Think!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley, Crowley, Crowley. What have you got yourself into this time.” Hastur growled, before thrusting the branding iron back into the flames. Again he let it heat up until the metal was white, white as heaven and just as nasty. Again he brought it out and watched it cool back to a burnt orange. In and out, in and out. Crowley wished he would just get on with it, press the hot metal to his chest and get it over and done with so he could get the hell out of… Hell, and find the angel. His angel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been a good boy Crowley, and we can’t have that.” Hastur said eventually. He walked towards Crowley with the iron spitting and sparking in the air. He kept out of reach, holding the branding iron out so it stopped just shy of his chest. Close enough for Crowley to cower away from the heat emanating from it, to feel the malice in the superheated metal, but not close enough to leave a mark. His heart was racing, surging adrenaline through his body in anticipation of the acute and prolonged pain to come.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Hastur said, grinning. “We have a much better punishment devised for you.” He angled the iron down, and Crowley noticed the mound on the floor between them, obscured up to now by the dazzling light of the fire and a heavy, dark cloth. Whatever was underneath it was quite large. Long enough to fit a person inside, certainly. Crowley had heard of some of the torture methods that Hell had picked up from the humans, try as he did to hide them. It would not be an exaggeration at this point to say he, and his overachieving imagination, were utterly terrified. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hastur pulled back the sheet, his face in what would probably be described as a grimace by anyone that didn’t know him well enough to know that that was him smiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley had the space of one of his racing heartbeats to shut down any reaction, and formulate a plan. The thing underneath the sheet looked large enough to fit a person in, because, well, it was a person. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or, more specifically, it was an angel. Laid out on his back, bound and gagged and bruised, shirtless, his whole torso bared as his arms were twisted awkwardly up behind his back underneath him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale, here, in Hell, with Hastur standing over him, calmly placing a branding iron back into the bowl of fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Thinking fast, he leaned back in his seat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh Hastur, you slimy moron. What have you done. Lord Beelzebub is not going to be happy with you.” He drawled as calmly as possible. He avoided looking down at Aziraphale where he lay, blinking in the dark. “Not happy at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hastur chuckled again, the sounds of a diseased lung coughing itself up, dying as he pulled the iron back out of the fire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why wouldn’t Lord Beelzebub be happy with me? I’ve caught a traitor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really haven’t. You don’t even know the half of it you blundering toad. What you’ve done, is bulldozed in and ruined an operation that was several thousand years in the making.” Crowley sucked the air in through his teeth. “This is not going to go well for you Hastur. You’ve really fucked up here boy-o.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go on then you pathetic snake, enlighten me. Let’s hear your latest excuse.” Hastur grinned, all teeth and nothing in his soulless black eyes. He stuck a rolled up cigarette between his lips and used the hot iron to light it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you think you’ve stumbled onto here exactly?” Crowley inquired. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hastur took a long drag on his cigarette and spoke, smoke curling out with his words. “’S easy. You’re a traitor, working with this tosspot down here.” And Hastur kicked out into Aziraphale’s ribs, and Crowley tried very hard not to hear the sound of hobnail boots hitting flesh.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I?” Crowley asked, one eyebrow raised. “Or is he the traitor?” Crowley gestured down with his head, but didn’t take his eyes off the Duke in front of him. “Did it ever occur to you that I might be using him to get information for Lord Beelzebub? Did it ever enter your thick skull that I might just have been sent up to Earth permanently to befriend this peacock, and get all the information I could out of him? What did you expect to happen when you brought him here? That I would try and defend him?” Crowley scoffed and turned his head away in irritation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hastur hesitated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If that were true, I’d have been told about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley’s head rolled around in mock frustration. “They said you wouldn’t understand and fuck me they were right. Fuck’s sake Hastur, there’s a reason this job was given to me. You don’t possess the intelligence to pull it off, as you are so helpfully demonstrating. You’d have fucked it up and it had to look real. It had to look like I was doing this alone. No-one else could know, otherwise I would never gain his trust. Which you have now obliterated in one fell swoop, so yeah! Go Hastur! But fuck me is Beelzebub going to be furious when they hear about this. Flies’ll be all over the place for ages.” He grumbled, slumping back into the chair and looking away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale had remained silent throughout this, and Crowley daren’t look at him. They wouldn’t make it out of here as acquaintances, let alone friends (and he could forget about anything more than that), but hopefully, Aziraphale might make it out alive. If he could get Hastur to trust him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hastur looked at him once more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Balderdash.” Hastur scoffed, voice dripping with disdain. “But there’s one way to find out…” He said gleefully before quickly grabbing the branding iron and ramming it down onto the centre of Aziraphale’s chest. Crowley followed the movement and caught sight of the hurt on Aziraphale’s face, the eyes like pools of infinity brimming over as they stared at him and it was all he could manage to not let on the way his heart stuttered and stopped as it cracked clean in two. Then the iron bit into the flesh of the angel’s chest, right over where his human-ish heart was. Crowley bit into his tongue to control the rising maelstrom and, grimacing, forced his head to turn away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale seemed to shut down. His eyes closed, his jaw clenched, and his eyebrows scrunched down with the effort of keeping silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Clever Angel, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Crowley thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t let them see your pain.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you didn’t care what happened to him?” Hastur teased, pushing the iron down a bit further into the seared flesh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t give a shit, but my sense of smell is stronger than yours toad-brain. That stinks, even by Hell’s standards.” He said, curling his top lip up for effect. And it did, to be fair. The stench of burning flesh is not a pleasant one by any means, but celestial flesh has a particularly vile aroma to a demon. Most demons revelled in the experience, but Crowley was always so much more than ‘most demons’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hastur put the iron back in the fire, watching with glee at the fragments of pale skin that it took with it were incinerated by the flames, and Crowley could hear Aziraphale sucking in lungfuls of air through his nose. He had to remain calm. He had to look like he didn’t care if he was going to get the angel out of here. His greatest act of love right now had to be appearing to not love at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hastur reached down and grabbed Aziraphale’s arm and hauled him roughly up to his knees. Crowley could see the flesh bulge out around the ropes on his legs where the extra pressure was straining against them. Hastur shoved him forward so he was facing Crowley, so Crowley could see the gruesome mark burned into his chest, smelled the charred flesh. A Leviathan Cross. The brand of the Devil himself. Crowley should know, the snake by his ear is forever contorted into that shape. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The brand was nauseating. The stench was overpowering. The wound was an angry red, scattered with a cauterised black, and gently steaming. Aziraphale’s head was hung low, his chest heaving. Hastur reached forward, grabbing a fist full of downy white hair and yanked his head up and Crowley couldn’t look away fast enough to miss the tears, the half closed eyes, the split lip stretched around the dirty, grey, cloth gag that was desecrating this heavenly form. Hastur leaned in low and spoke close to Aziraphale’s ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now then, let’s see those pretty wings eh angel?” Hastur looked directly at Crowley from his spot just over Aziraphale’s left shoulder, still grinning with the cigarette wobbling between his lips as he spoke. Aziraphale’s whole torso had a grey sheen to it where he was sweating with the effort of managing the pain of the brand. Not just from the heat, but from the unholy mark seeping into his core. Ash dropped from the end of Hastur’s cigarette as he rammed a fist into the space between Aziraphale’s shoulder blades, arching his spine as he pulled his head back by the hair. With a gasp there was a flurry of white feathers as his wings shimmered into sight, mantled protectively around himself and Crowley. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Idiot angel. Bastard, idiot, perfect bloody angel. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Hastur let out another crackling laugh before grabbing hold of one of the wings tightly, his hand digging into the feathers near the base joint. He pulled the wing towards him but the stubborn bastard angel resisted until there was a ghastly crack, and the wing bent at an unnatural angle. Aziraphale grimaced, strung there between the hand gripping his wing and the hand in his hair, trussed up tight with no access to his powers (they didn’t stretch this far down, had never needed to before). He couldn’t fight, he couldn’t heal, he could hardly move. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cowley looked on with barely a twitch. He examined the ropes, looking for a weak point. In a fair fight Hastur was no match for the principality, but a Duke of Hell does not become one by fighting fair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Beelzebub’s going to be furious, you know. He was a major source of intel for us. But since we’re here anyway, I’ve had to put up with millennia of his bullshit. How about giving me a go?” He said, angling his head at the branding iron. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You? Didn’t know you had it in you, Crowley.” Hastur sounded mildly impressed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hastur if we go around recounting everything you don’t know, we’ll be here for eternity and frankly, I have better things to do. Now untie me and hand me that iron. I have a lot of petty irritations to work out.” Crowley sneered as best he could over the panic that was threatening to engulf him at the sight of the broken wing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hastur seemed to think for a moment, then walked around behind Crowley and slowly untied his hands, leaving his legs tied to the chair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t need your legs for this. I still don’t trust you Crowley.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well of course you don’t, we’re demons you prat.” Crowley massaged his wrists and shook his hands out. “But you’ll have to hand me the iron. And turn this featherbrained twerp around. You did his front, I want to brand his back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley leaned in towards the angel’s face as Hastur went to get the iron. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Make sure it’s nice and hot! I want this one to burn </span>
  <em>
    <span>deep.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He called to Hastur before lowering his voice to a malicious growl, just loud enough for Hastur to hear. </span>
</p><p><span>“No-one’s coming to rescue you this time </span><em><span>Angel</span></em><span>.</span> <span>You’re on your own.” Aziraphale dragged his head and eyes up to look at him, fear and confusion and betrayal scrawled painfully across his tear-stained face. Crowley glanced up to check that Hastur still had his back turned as he stoked the fire, before looking Aziraphale right in the eye, and winking, just once. He had to hope he’d got the message. Had to hope the silly angel knew him well enough by now to realise what was about to happen. The subtle shift in his features suggested he did, but Crowley had a lot riding on him right now. For both their sakes. </span></p><p>
  <span>He schooled his features back to ‘evil arsehole’ just as Hastur turned. He grabbed Aziraphale roughly by his other wing and dragged him around on his knees so his back was facing Crowley. Now Crowley could see the way his arms were bound, bent painfully up together in a mock prayer behind his back. Judging by the colour of his fingers they had been there for some time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley looked at Hastur expectantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well? Untie his arms then? I can’t get to his back with them in the way like this, can I?” He said, crossing his arms over his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hastur gestured irritably and suddenly Aziraphale’s hands were manacled, and strung from the ceiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh great, how does that help? You’ve left me tied to the chair, honestly it’s like working with amateurs. How am I supposed to reach him?! For fuck’s sake Hastur, leave the manacles but untie him from the ceiling so you can move him back. Demons below, do I have to do everything around here?” Crowley had his hands at his temples, massaging slow circles. “You can hold the chain yourself if you’re that worried. Or are you scared of a fussy little angel who likes to eat cake all day?” Crowley hated himself most days, but he reserved a special pool of loathing for the words he’d just uttered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grumbling, Hastur grabbed the chain and yanked it out of the ceiling. Aziraphale seemed to have gone limp, and it was lulling Hastur into false confidence. With one hand Hastur passed Crowley the branding iron. It was white hot, glowing half way up the shaft. Crowley gulped and moved it carefully towards Aziraphale’s back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right between the wings. What do you think?” He said, looking carefully at his target, holding the iron close enough that Aziraphale would be able to feel the heat and know where it was. The angel shifted his shoulders, and the broken wing fell across his back, obscuring the skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley grunted. “Very sneaky angel, but it will only prolong your pain. Hastur, you’ll have to hold the wing out of the way. I can’t reach, seeing as I am still helpfully bound to a chair.” He said. And Hastur leaned around Aziraphale to grab the wing and yank it up. Leaned forward enough to let the chain go slack in his hands. Slack enough that the docile angel, the patient Cherub (everyone always forgot that bit), was able to raise his manacled arms up and towards Hastur’s neck, and with one almighty flap of his free wing he pushed them both sideways until he was on top of Hastur. His weight and strength vastly overpowered the demon even without his powers, as he pulled the manacle chain tight around his neck. Hastur looked to Crowley in alarm, his head pushed backwards by the force of the angel on him, but Crowley merely shrugged and pointed to bound legs. They always forgot that Aziraphale had once been a Cherub. That he had once commanded a platoon. That he was once a battle-hardened soldier. Appearances can be deceiving, but some training lasts forever and Aziraphale bore down with calculated, righteous precision. Crowley barely had a moment to appreciate the way Aziraphale’s arms bulged as he choked Hastur into unconsciousness before the Duke’s hand went limp halfway through the gesture that would have freed Crowley’s legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale held on long enough to make sure Hastur wasn’t faking, then rolled himself off, wincing at the pain of his wing hitting the floor as he landed at Crowley’s feet. He looked up at him carefully, guarded in a way that twisted the two halves of Crowley’s broken heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley looked back down at him, and very slowly put the branding iron down in the dirt next to the chair. It sizzled slightly as it came into contact with something that Crowley didn’t want to think about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, yeah, no rude notes.” He said, not taking his eyes off of the angel on the floor. Mercifully, Aziraphale rolled his eyes at that, and held up his wrists, and oh he was pulling that face again, that one that had Crowley stumbling over himself to oblige. He gestured again and the manacles, ropes and gag all fell open and Aziraphale took a deep breath, letting it all out in a shuddering sigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Th-” He started to say, before Crowley’s glare cut him off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah. Yes. Quite.” He sat up, wincing, body shaking with the effort of moving after spending so long bound in one position. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should I?” He offered, looking at Crowley’s still bound legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, ’s ok.” He replied, reaching down with one flaming finger to slice through the ropes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ange- Aziraphale, can I- do you want me to heal you?” Crowley asked tentatively, half lifting a hand towards Aziraphale’s chest. “There’s evil in there, and you won’t get it out by yourself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale looked down at his chest, at the brand burned deep into the flesh. The skin around it was grey, an expanding halo of malevolence riddled with dark tendrils as the evil seeped into his bloodstream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. I suppose that would be sensible.” He said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley was down on his knees in an instant, he watched Aziraphale’s face for any sign of discomfort as he reached out and put his hand over the burn. He saw the slight flinch, the brief flash of fear in the angel’s eyes as their skin connected. Then all at once it was excruciating as he pulled the heat out of the burn, scrabbling with his other hand for the iron so he could earth it back into it. The branding iron grew hot as Crowley pulled the demonic power out of his friend, hot enough for the bars of the cross to begin to wilt. Crowley gritted his teeth and whined, but didn’t let go. It was his fault they were in this predicament, and he would do everything in his power to fix it. With a gasp the last of the evil influence gave up its hold and Crowley fell back. There was still a faint scar on Aziraphale’s chest, but it was skin deep and nothing he wouldn’t be able to sort out on his own once they got back topside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley was still holding the glowing iron. He looked at Aziraphale, and then at a prone Hastur next to him and reached a decision. He quickly grabbed at Hastur’s clothes, flipping him over and scrabbling to remove the trousers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold his neck again. Make sure he doesn’t wake up.” Crowley said, and Aziraphale cottoned on to what he was about to do. He settled himself behind Hastur, one hand on his throat more than enough to keep him in a state of blissful hypoxia, the other holding his arms behind his back just in case. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley glanced at Aziraphale, at his beloved angel, looking for any reservations and finding none, then pressed the overheated branding iron down into the flesh of Hastur’s buttock with a grim determination. Hastur flinched, but Aziraphale had him suspended between breaths and unable to react. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The iron was a cold black before Crowley withdrew it, noting the resulting mark with satisfaction. He hadn’t intended to change the design of the iron, but there it was, a bright red, weeping, snake version of the Leviathan Cross. The evil aspect of it wouldn’t harm Hastur, and he would be able to heal it fairly well once he woke up, but he would never be able to forget who had put it there, and why. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Job done, thoughts immediately turned to escape. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aziraphale, can you hide your wings away like that?” Crowley asked carefully. He wouldn’t be able to heal the wing, wings as white as Aziraphale’s required celestial power or they would be tarnished and that would put Aziraphale at risk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale found that he could, and while it dulled the pain due to the wings being stabilised in their hide away dimension, he could still very clearly feel the break. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley held up the dirty cloth that had been covering the angel on the floor. He looked at Aziraphale with an expression of premature regret. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry about this Aziraphale, I really am. But this isn’t going to be comfortable…” He said, moving towards him with the cloth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Demons parted down the crowded hallways, squeezing themselves into the walls as Crowley sauntered past, face still bearing the signs of a struggle, clothing still torn, whistling painfully in tune. They stared at the body-shaped bundle of filthy cloth he was dragging along the floor behind him with no small measure of fear. Dagon looked up as he wandered past her door on his way to the exit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What have you got there, Crowley?” She called out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?” He said, backtracking a few steps to see her sitting at her desk and letting the cloth go limp in his hand. He looked disarmingly cheerful, sunglasses firmly back in place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who or what is that?” She asked again, pointing to the bundle with her pen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This?” Crowley said, spinning around as if he’d just noticed he was dragging something heavier than himself down a corridor. “Oh this is nothing. Just some idiot demon who thought they’d got the better of me. Don’t worry, he’s not dead, he’s just going to learn how difficult it really is to go up against an angel, and why he should never mess with things he doesn’t understand.” Crowley said, his biggest, smuggest grin on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t hear that, and you were never here.” Dagon said, turning away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley made it to the lift, his sigh of relief swelling in his chest as the lift doors were closing, when Eric jumped in at the last second. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eric.” Crowley nodded in greeting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright Crowley? Wotcha got there?” He asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Scumbag who thought that because I’ve had the same adversary for millennia, that I’m no good at my job and they could do better. I’m teaching him a lesson he won’t forget.” He shrugged. Eric’s eyes widened as he looked at the bundle on the floor by Crowley’s feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you do to him?” He asked, unconsciously backing into the wall as the lift began to move. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“’S not what </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve</span>
  </em>
  <span> done,” Crowley grinned, “he’s just unconscious. It’s what’s going to happen to him when he wakes up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eric paled slightly. There were rumours about Crowley that circulated downstairs. The way his current scheme in France was unfolding was making a few of the higher demons a bit worried that their own great, unwashed, masses might take some notice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going to happen when he wakes up?” He asked, not really wanting to know, but knowing he would get it in the neck (again) from the others if he left this conversation without the gory details. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley leaned in slightly. “When he wakes up, he will find himself at the door of that very same adversary, and he will have the opportunity to demonstrate just how easy it is to take down the Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden. Did you ever see him back then Eric? He had this flaming sword that I’ve never been able to work out what happened to. And believe me, I’ve been looking for it. Flaming like anything, it was. Shit-for-brains here seems to have forgotten the bit about how they only gave those to Cherubs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I heard he’s gone soft.” Eric tentatively suggested. There was a strange, indignant sound that seemed to come from the bundle, but before Eric could work out what it was Crowley shifted his feet and coughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoops.” He said, deadpan. “Must have kicked him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eric wasn’t sure he saw Crowley move, but he wasn’t about to argue with the Serpent of Eden in such a confined space. Not when he was grinning like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lift slowed and the doors opened, and Crowley stepped out, dragging the cloth bundle behind him. He paused, looking over his shoulder at Eric still in the lift. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You not getting out?” He asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah,” Eric said faintly, pressing the down button. “I’ll get the next one.” And the lift doors closed again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley looked around, then with a weary wave he transported them both as far away as he could manage. It was only a few streets away into a room above a tavern, but it was out of sight of the doors. Back on Terra Firma, Aziraphale felt his power coming back and sighed with relief as his aching wrists soothed themselves with a thought. Crowley had untied the cloth, releasing Aziraphale, and was now sat on the floor a few feet away. He was leaning against the foot of a large, dark, four poster bed, one foot pulled in with the knee upright and his elbow on it as he held his face in his palm. The other knee was splayed out to the side, with the arm hanging loosely over it, very carefully in view and relaxed. He looked exhausted and thoroughly dejected. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think you can find your way home from here, Angel?” He asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose I can.” Aziraphale responded. He was battered and bruised, but he was alive and relatively unharmed, and he had Crowley to thank for that. He shook his wings back into the world, and set about holding the limp one straight while he let the bone heal, gritting his teeth at the feeling of a thousand needles of bone pushing their way through spasming muscles. Once done, he fluttered them a few times, shaking out loose feathers and checking the balance, before tucking them away again. He reached around where he was sat, gathering up the fallen feathers, not noticing the graceful hand that shot out while his back was turned to gather up a stray white feather and tuck it neatly in a pocket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Angel, I…” Crowley tried, his voice croaking. “Listen, what I said. Earlier. You know I didn’t mean it, right?” And he knew he sounded desperate, but he was too desperate to care. He had to try.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale stilled, and looked at him, studying him for a moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know you’re really not as good an actor as you think you are, my dear. Hastur, like most demons, merely lacks the imagination to see anything other than what is in front of him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley choked out a sob of relief and exhaustion before he had a chance to hold it in. But he had seen the way the angel looked at him as he said whatever it took to get them out of there, he knew it would be some time before they were able to laugh over crêpes again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale reached for him, cupping his face in his hand and Crowley felt himself lean into it, eyes closed. He felt the soothing healing power wash over the remains of his injuries, light as a feather. He let out a great sigh as the last of the skin healed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even so, I think it might be wise to keep some distance for a while, just in case.” Aziraphale said quietly, removing his hand and hoping Crowley would persuade him otherwise, as usual. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think you’re probably right Angel. Might need to sleep for a century after all this.” Crowley mumbled. He heard a snap, and opened one eye to peer at the Angel to see him fully dressed again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well you can’t do that here. They’ll think you’re dead and bury you again.” He warned. Aziraphale was heading for the door and Crowley barely had the energy to watch him go. Before he made it through the door, the angel paused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley, you will be alright, won’t you? Getting home, I mean?” He asked quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, course.” Crowley replied with a flippant wave of his hand. And then the angel was gone. And he was all alone again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale tucked himself into a corner in the coffee house opposite the tavern, and waited. Only when he saw a tall figure all in black stumble out a few hours later did he move from his seat. And only when he had confirmed that the same figure had made it safely across town to a severe looking town house in the most fashionable area of London, did he go home to his books.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Centuries later, after driving through infernal flames, facing down Satan, and nearly losing his mind after a hand slipped into his on a wayward bus, Crowley poured himself into his Angel’s skin. At first he didn’t think too much of the tingling feeling, of the way it felt so comfortable to be in this body, but standing in the bookshop whilst awaiting capture the tingling gradually became more pervasive. It seemed to centre in the middle of the newly borrowed broad chest. He found a mirror, and firmly telling himself that this was medicinal purposes only, and not to get too carried away, he unbuttoned the layers to see what the source of the sensation was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needn’t have worried about his own control. The sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks with the force of a freight train. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He recognised the scar immediately. There, in the centre of this most beloved chest, was an ugly reminder of the day he nearly got Aziraphale killed. The day that sealed his fate and set something into motion that had spiralled way beyond the Arrangement. He covered it up again. Why hadn’t the daft angel healed it away? Why keep the literal mark of the Devil on your chest?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A couple of days later, after the column of Hellfire, after the Ritz, they sat in the bookshop, wine in hand, sunglasses abandoned, staring into nothing, together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hastur looked as horrible as I remember.” Aziraphale said suddenly. “I must say it felt nice to see the look of fear on his face, that look of frustration when Lord Beelzebub wouldn’t let him try anything else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Hastur really hates me. He never got over that whole branding thing. He visited me again, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no! Crowley don’t tell me he hurt you, please. If I’d have known I would have been a bit more targeted with the splashing.” Aziraphale sounded pained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, just tried to scare me. I managed to convince him I’d had to demonstrate I was on your side in order to win back your trust, and ‘salvage the operation’. By the end of it I had him actually begging me not to tell Lord Beelzebub.” Crowley flashed him a thin smile. “It didn’t last though, hence the Holy Water request. He was getting too close.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh Crowley I am ever so sorry. I should have believed you. I’m rather afraid I panicked when you handed me that note. I panicked at the thought of losing you, and I acted irrationally.” Aziraphale said, and Crowley stumbled a bit on the ‘losing you’ part. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aziraphale?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes dear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you keep the scar?” Crowley asked quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which scar?” Aziraphale looked mildly alarmed, and one hand came up over his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That one.” Crowley replied, poking the hand with one, long finger. “I only know about it because it was tingling. Why didn’t you get rid of it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale looked down at his feet and sighed. “Oh, lots of reasons Crowley, and all of them far too ridiculous to say out loud. But the main reason is more selfish than that. I’m not surprised it tingled when you were in my corporation. It has a habit of doing that whenever you get close. That’s partly why I panicked so much in the park that day. It’s the first time I’d seen you since getting it, and it caught me off guard I suppose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It… tingles when you get close to me?” Crowley wasn’t sure what the hell was going on right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yes, amongst other things. I think when you pulled all the Hellish influence out, you left a piece of yourself behind, and I didn’t want to remove the scar without knowing what it might do to you.” Aziraphale looked up at him now, and Crowley couldn’t take the look of anguish on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean, ‘amongst other things’…” He asked carefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well it’s really not keen on churches, I can tell you that.” Aziraphale tried to laugh. “And if you’re close enough I can feel a little bit of what you’re feeling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley panicked a little bit, then tried not to for obvious reasons. “What, like anger and pride and what-not?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yyyyyes…” Aziraphale said slowly. “And ‘what-not.” And now he was looking at Crowley with such impossibly serene blue eyes. It wasn’t right, blue eyes should look grey in the low lighting of the bookshop, but somehow they were a brilliant blue and giving him a look that suggested he should have gotten a hint of some sort by now. He thought as hard as he could about all the capers they’d been on together, all the myriad of emotions he would have felt that would have interested an Angel, and try as he might, he came up with only one. So he took a chance and felt it. He felt it with all his might, with the force of the ten thousand suns he’d flung into the sky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale gasped. “Oh my dear boy.” He said somewhat breathlessly. “Whatever am I to do with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s pretty much a given at this point that you could do anything you like and I won’t mind.” Crowley murmured as he drowned in pools of impossible blue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale stood, and removed his jacket and waistcoat, folding them neatly over the back of the armchair. He sat back down next to Crowley and unbuttoned his shirt just enough to make the scar visible. Crowley tried not to stare, even as Aziraphale gently picked up his hand and placed it over the scar on his chest and Crowley felt his heartbeat racing under his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s probably time I let you have it back now I suppose.” Aziraphale said, looking away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley paused. “Well, uh, I, um, don’t really need it. Never really noticed it was gone, I guess. ‘Sides, might come in handy having a little piece of me kept safe somewhere else.” Crowley said carefully. He didn’t want to give this up. It felt too right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale blushed, trying to hide the smile on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think there’s anything we can do about the scar itself?” He asked. As much as he loved having the little piece of Crowley, he could do without the literal mark of the devil branded into his skin if there was an option. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley seemed to think for a moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I can’t get rid of it, but I might be able to change it, but not by much. Your skin won’t like my power.” He looked at his hand thoughtfully. “I might be able to change it just-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale put his hand up to Crowley’s cheek and he instantly forgot what he was saying. Aziraphale’s hand was warm, and soft, and he was leaning into it before he realised what he was doing. Aziraphale let one thumb drift up to gently stroke Crowley’s snake tattoo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just enough to be worth liking?” He asked, and Crowley’s world went soft-focus. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Aziraphale’s hand was round the back of his neck, and the other one was steadying on his knee, and Crowley had moved in before he even realised what was happening and…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Crowley knew what it was to feel love again, and it was overwhelming and not enough all in one go. It was the warmth of a broad angelic chest, it was the heart thumping underneath it, it was hands holding him so he couldn’t shake apart, and it was soft, soft lips, pressed against his with an intensity that felt like the very tip of an iceberg. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it was being asked to put your mark on their chest, right over their heart, where they kept a little piece of you squirrelled away for a rainy day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you.” Crowley blurted out as they separated, the sight of the newly reformed scar making his heart skip a beat. “But I’m guessing you already knew that.” He said, slightly sheepish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did.” Aziraphale said, smiling at him like he meant something, like he was cherished. “I’d rather hoped you’d guessed by now that I love you too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you.” He blurted out again, having apparently given up on any other thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then suddenly Crowley couldn’t hold back any longer and he was all over Aziraphale, kissing his face, his lips, everywhere he could reach. He came up onto his knees on the sofa to try and get closer until Aziraphale huffed out a laugh, put one hand on each of Crowley’s hips and hoisted him into his lap with a squeak. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley, who melted into the embrace in a way only a creature with no concept of how a normal human skeleton should behave, can. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry you got mixed up in my shit, Angel.” Crowley mumbled into his neck. “I’ve no idea how you kept so still through all that pain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Practice.” Aziraphale said without thinking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley pulled back and studied him carefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean ‘practice’?” He asked, an edge to his voice, and Aziraphale looked away. He let out a big sigh and looked back into those exquisite serpentine eyes that had been his downfall, trying to ignore the feeling he was picking up from Crowley lest it drown him completely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean Gate duty came with some extra training they thought might come in handy, and it turns out they were right, even if they were several thousand years off with the timing. It was a very long time ago, and it’s not important now my dear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean they…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They did. I wasn’t given that posting Crowley, I earned it. The hard way. I was the only one who didn’t break. Now please don't make a thing out of it. I've made my peace with it seeing as it helped us both.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Angel?” Crowley asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes my dear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I ever hurt you, and let’s face it I’m a demon so there’s a good chance of it happening, I want you to tell me about it. No hiding it away or bottling it up. Understood?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale gave him a complicated look that had a strong undertone of fondness in it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course dear. Although I highly doubt you’d be able to hurt me. You’re too n-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley kissed him before he was able to get the word out, and glared at him as he pulled away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you dare Aziraphale.” He tried to snarl. But Aziraphale was grinning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, well, I’m sure that would be more effective if I couldn’t feel the fact that you don’t mind me calling you nice. By all accounts I’d say you rather li- mmmpf!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley pulled away with another warning glare. Aziraphale merely smiled his best bastard smile and slipped his arms around Crowley’s waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re kind.” He rushed out before Crowley could react. “And sweet, and lovely, and thoughtful and oooooh.” Aziraphale was rather flushed with the powerful feeling that was emanating from his scar now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did try to warn you Angel…” Crowley growled and he began to assault Aziraphale’s neck with his lips and tongue, gripping his open shirt tightly with both hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy…” Aziraphale whispered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck Angel, remind me to never piss you off, yeh?” Crowley murmured as he nipped at Aziraphale’s ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh I don’t know, I’d always rather hoped you’d give me an excuse to shove you against a wall dearest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ngk!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just perhaps somewhere with fewer ex-satanic nuns to interrupt.” Aziraphale smiled into the kiss he was receiving. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley paused. “Shit, well I guess I know now why you didn’t look at all scared that day.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed.” Aziraphale smiled again, before sliding his hands underneath Crowley, and standing up. “Now, if you don’t mind, I rather think we have some catching up to do.” He said as he walked off towards the stairs carrying him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, you bastard.” Crowley grumbled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, immensely my dear. But not as much as I’m about to…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a while before they noticed, before Crowley realised that the gnawing chasm he had always felt inside where his grace used to be was little more than a niggling crack in the ceiling that you only saw when you looked up. It wasn’t until Aziraphale opened the bookshop up again and got really angry with an attempted customer that Crowley found he could </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> the anger and realised what had happened. He mentioned it to Aziraphale later, and they both agreed it was only fair that he keep the little bit of Aziraphale that had poured itself into him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They still got some rings as well though. It was nice to have a visual reminder.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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